A New Mystery at 221 Baker Street

Chapter 48: An Underground Network

Episode Transcript provided by Ariane DeVere/Callie Sullivan

***

"Yeah, that's odd," John acknowledged as he watched the security footage at the table. "There's nowhere he could have got off?"

"Not according to the maps," Sherlock muttered. "There's something I'm missing. Something staring at me in the face,"

"Any idea who they are: this underground network? Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones,"

"Our rat's come out of the den," Sherlock looked at a sequence of photos taken of Lord Moran walking along the road next to the Houses of Parliament, indicating he had just come out of Westminster Tube station. "Yes!" He shouted triumphantly. "I've been an idiot, a blind idiot!"

"What?"

"It's specific- incredibly specific,"

"What do you mean?"

"It's not an underground network, John. It's an Underground Network! It was staring at us in the face!"

"Right... what?"

Sherlock leaned over John's shoulder to replay the footage of Lord Moran getting into the train at Westminster. "Look, seven cars leave Westminster, but only six arrive at St. James's Park,"

"But that's impossible," John said as he replayed the footage.

"Moran didn't disappear, the entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and detached the last car,"

"Detached it where? You said there was nothing between those stations,"

"Not on the maps, but when you have excluded the impossible, what remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Sherlock pointed to the screen. "That car vanished, so it must be somewhere,"

"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?"

Sherlock began to pace. "It vanishes between St. James's Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. You're kidnapped and nearly burned to death at a fireworks part-" Sher turned to John in realization. "What's the date, John?"

"Hmm? November the... my God,"

Sherlock walked over to his crime map, piecing everything together. "Lord Moran, he's a peer of the realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight, there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism bill but he won't be there. Not tonight, not the fifth of November," Sherlock turned around and faced John.

"Remember, remember," John repeated the first part of the ever famous poem.

"The gunpowder treason and plot,"

"There's nothing here, Mr. Holmes," Howard Shilcott said on Skype as the boys searched through the maps and papers on the table. "I told you, no sidings, no ghost stations,"

"There has to be, check again," Sherlock looked at an old map. "St. Margaret's Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street..."

"Hang on," Shilcott said, leaning offscreen. "You mentioned Sumatra Road, Mr. Holmes. There is something. There was a station down there,"

"Why isn't it on the maps?" John asked.

"It closed before it ever opened," Shilcott held up a book for them to see. "They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes. They never built the station on the surface.

Sherlock grinned. "It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster,"

"So what's down there, a bomb?" John asked. Sherlock didn't reply and headed for the door. "Oh..." John quickly got up, grabbed his coat, and followed the detective out of the flat.